Remembrance
by Cassandra Riley
Summary: What if love was real - real, dangerous, life-threatening, life-saving, passionate, fiery, zealous? What if it wasn't the way it was described in books? What if it was better?


Here's how you know if you've fallen in love:

Here's how you know if you've fallen in love:

Your heart quickens every time you see the object of your affection. Your skin tingles each time they touch you. When you look at them, their skin seems to glow with a heavenly light, and when you look in the mirror, the same radiance is lighting you up from inside. All your time is spent thinking about them, and whenever they look at you, a spark tingles in your heart, and you just _know_ they are the one.

Yeah – in fairytales, maybe.

My name is Lily Evans, and I swore to myself I would _never_ fall in love. Falling is accidental, foolish; I would never be so careless as to fall in anything. I vowed to myself that I was much too down-to-earth for a flimsy, unpredictable, namby-pamby thing like love.

I have never been and will never be a 'hopeless romantic'. While other girls my age preoccupy themselves with magazines, jewellery and boyfriends, I was only concerned with books and exams. I have always loved the most unromantic things possible: standing out in the rain for so long that I am saturated right through, hair plastered to my skin and cold to the bones; wearing thick, comfortable, unflattering clothes; scarves that wind around my neck ten times and make my throat look like the size of a small tree trunk; sitting all night in the library with a blanket and a collection of thick books, earning myself odd looks from everyone who sees me.

My attitude has always been "screw 'em".

I was first asked out on a date when I was fifteen. It took all of my self-control not to laugh in their face. That's all it has ever been: a joke. Love – real, true love, the way it happens in books – doesn't exist. It is always described as magical, enchanted, charming – all that rubbish which no one can really know. I don't believe in true love. I don't believe in soulmates. I don't believe in Prince Charmings who can sweep you off your feet and devote themselves to you for as long as you both shall live. What's more, I don't understand how anyone _can_ believe it.

Valentine's Day is a load of crap. Christmas cards that say 'to my sweetheart' are belittling. Anniversaries where people give droopy-eyed, floppy teddy bears are pathetic – who _cares_ when you're fifteen years old? How can anyone _want_ to fall in love?

Who needs romance? All that sappy, happily-ever-after stuff was way beyond me. I have always been bewildered as to why people like love stories, confused beyond belief as to the entrancement of fairytales.

Love is never like that in reality. Why bother pretending?

And then someone asked me, "Lily, why are you afraid of love?"

Instinct told me to retort that of course I wasn't – what was to be afraid of? My utter disgust of it didn't necessarily mean that I was scared. Why would they assume that I was afraid of love?

But instead, I bite back my reply, my daft brain working overtime as a distant memory returns to me. What had sparked my original scorn of love? How could I possibly have forgotten?

_"And they all lived happily ever after."_

_All was quiet for a minute, and then I asked, "Mummy, why did Prince Charming fall in love with Snow White?"_

_My mother looked confused. "What do you mean, lovely?"_

_"He had never even met her before. How could he know that he loved her?"_

"_I suppose… he just knew. That is what love is. You just know."_

_"Is it always like that, Mummy?"_

_My mother smoothed my hair back. "Not always, Lily-love. Snow White is just a fairytale. It isn't real; it's describing how life would be if it was perfect."_

_"Why isn't life perfect, though?"_

_She sighed. "I don't know, my darling. All I can say is, it would be lovely if it was."_

_There was a silence, cut into by the ticking of my bedside clock._

_Eventually I asked, "How did you and Daddy meet, Mummy?"_

_My mother smiled at me. "Now, young lady, I think this is the let's-distract-Mummy-at-bedtime game, isn't it?"_

_"But I'm not tired," I whined. "Please tell me!"_

_"Well, alright," she conceded. "But lie down and close your eyes."_

_I did so, snuggling down under my quilt, and my mother settled herself next to me._

_"Once upon a time," she began, "there was a girl called Ellen who lived in a village in Surrey."_

_"That's you!" I cried happily, and my mother nodded, smiling, and shushed me._

_"One day, when she was seventeen," she continued, "her friend invited her to a party at her house. _

_"She was very excited. She went out to a big town and bought a pretty dress to wear, because her own Mummy had given her a little bit of money to buy some things for the party. When the day came, she put it on and went to her friend's house. _

_"There were already a lot of people at the party. Ellen didn't know very many of them, so she stayed in the corner and talked to the people who she did know from her school. She had never been to a proper party before, because in those days, Mummies and Daddies were very strict. So she was shy and scared of all the people she didn't know, and didn't know how to talk to any of them._

_"But about halfway through the party, she saw a boy who she thought looked very nice. She thought she would get along with him well. So she tried to not be afraid and went over to talk to him."_

_"Daddy?" I squealed, and again my mother nodded and tucked me quietly back under the covers._

_"When she went over, she tried to say something to him. But instead of answering her, he ignored her! Embarrassed, she ran back to her friends and spent the rest of the evening not talking to anyone. She was glad when it was time to go home._

_"The next weekend, there was a knock on her door. Her Mummy answered it and called up to Ellen. "Ellen! It's for you!" she said._

_"So Ellen came down the stairs, and there, standing at the door, was the boy from the party! He told her that his name was Jack, he was sorry for ignoring her last week, and he wanted to make it up to her by taking her out for lunch. _

_"So she went out with him, and she had a lovely time, and they ate lots of nice food. But he also told her that the reason he wasn't very nice to her at the party was because he was upset that his family was moving to Scotland._

_"Ellen was very upset! She really liked Jack, and if he moved to Scotland she would never, ever see him again. _

_"So he walked her home, and they saw each other a few times after that, and they found that they really liked each other. But then Jack's parents set a date to move away, and they realised that they only had a few days left together. So they came up with a plan to run away together._

_"Ellen told her parents about it, because they liked Jack and she knew they wouldn't mind, and she was sure they'd be terribly worried if she disappeared. But Jack didn't tell his parents, because he knew they would try to stop him. So two days after that, they ran away to where they are living now, and had two lovely children called Petunia and Lily. And they lived happily ever after."_

_When my mother finished, my eyes were closed and my breathing was regular, and no doubt she thought I had fallen asleep when she added on that last line in a soft, quiet voice. But then I said, indignantly, "I can't believe Daddy was mean to you."_

_My mother laughed gently. "Neither can I, Lily-love."_

_I said, unable to keep the accusation from my voice, "You told me life didn't always work out like fairytales."_

_"It doesn't, my lovely," she said sadly. "Happiness doesn't just come. You have to work hard at life, and at love. It's not always perfect."_

_"Why not?"_

_My mother smiled at me. "I wish I knew. Maybe one day, my darling, you will find out."_

_And she kissed me on the forehead and left my room, the door clicking shut behind her._

My mother never lied to me. Not even at the age of six. So I _knew_ she was telling the truth. Life wasn't fair. Neither was love. At the age of six years old, I laughed in the face of love, and told myself I would be happier without it. And I truly meant it.

But now that I had been asked, I realised what that _really_ meant. Love didn't just repulse me, it terrified me. I was scared to think what it could do. Because love is strong; a passionate force, like wind or waves. It catches you up in its current and once you're trapped… there's no escaping.

And all of a sudden, I was admitting to myself that maybe love was real. Maybe it wasn't just a pathetic fairytale; maybe it wasn't just wishful thinking on the parts of those people who want it. If love was real – real, dangerous, life-threatening, life-saving, passionate, fiery, zealous – then it still wouldn't be the way it was described in books, but it would be so, _so_ much better.

Forget what they say. Enlightenment is a terrible thing. It sucks away blissful ignorance, and makes you realise what sort of a person you actually are. When you have been in denial for as long as you can remember, it only makes it worse.

"Lily?"

I snap out of my thought bubble and stare at my awakener like I've only just seen them for the first time. My whole world, my whole belief system has just shattered around me, and I have to build it up again. I suddenly feel exposed. My protective wall has been destroyed, and now I have nothing to hide behind.

I stand there, aghast, for a moment. When I can see nothing else to do, I turn and run like the wind. I run and run until I can't breathe but neither can I stop. Because if I run for long enough, maybe everything will be left behind. Maybe time will be rewound, and I will no longer have to face the truth about myself.

"Lily!"

Anyone else would have left me be. Anyone with an ounce of tact would think twice about following someone if they ran away from them at the speed of light. When all was said and done, they would acknowledge that, evidently, I want to be left alone. But of course, not James Potter.

James Potter follows me.

I run faster than I believed I could ever move. Where I am going is of no consequence, as long as I get away from my pursuer. When my thoughts catch up with me, I know I have lost. So I mustn't slow, and I mustn't stop. When you're running, you can't think, you can't feel. I don't want to think, and I don't want to feel. I can't face up to who I really am.

But I can't run forever.

Inevitably, I stop. My face is flushed and my hair is wild and when I touch my face, I realise it is wet with tears of cold, conceived from running into the bitter wind. I stand on the edge of the lake, staring out to the horizon, trying to catch my breath, dishevelled, a look of wild turmoil blazing uncontrollably in my eyes. I concentrate solely on the ripples coursing through the lake and lapping close to my feet, and I listen to the footsteps coming up behind me.

"How can you live when you realise you've been lying to yourself your entire life?" I ask, before he has a chance to say anything.

James comes to stand next to me, looking out across the lake the same way I am. "There are different kinds of lying."

"What about when you don't even realise you're doing it?"

"Then you're not lying."

"What is it, then?"

He paused. "Denial."

I sigh. "That's just as bad."

"Nowhere near." He steps closer to me and puts an arm round my shoulders. It's only then that I notice that I am shivering uncontrollably, and am grateful for the warmth.

"So will you answer me?" James asks, seemingly unafraid of my response.

I freeze, fearful now of the question, too. I cannot even begin to explain – hell, I barely understand myself. Realisation, as I said before, is incomprehensible to me. Why should anyone else understand?

I realise that James is still waiting patiently, expecting an answer.

"Because…" I begin hesitantly, with no idea what I am going to say. "I suppose… I never believed it could happen. What's the point in getting hurt if love – _true_ love – doesn't really exist?"

James was silent for a moment. "Why does true love not exist?"

I sag visibly. "I don't know," I admit. "Maybe I was wrong. Why do _you_ believe in true love?"

He thought. "I didn't, not for a long while. Maybe you only believe in it if you experience it."

"How do you know when you've experienced it, though? How do you tell infatuation from true love?"

He turned to look me directly in the eye. "You just do. Because it's so beautifully complicated it could be nothing else. Because you love them so much, you don't know how _not_ to love them. Because if you have to question it, then you know it's not true."

I stare back unashamedly. "I'm terrified of falling in love."

James pulls me into a hug. "I know you are."

I swallow down my inhibitions. "What is it like?"

He looks at me, surprised. "Falling in love?" I nod. "It's… different to anything you can ever imagine. It's beautiful, although you can't see it. It's unsettling and painful and sometimes it breaks your heart." He must have noticed my face fall and he smiles at me. "But it's downright _wonderful_. And you know what else?"

I shake my head numbly.

He brushes my cheek softly with his thumb. "It feels like this."

He bends down and kisses me.

Here's how you know if you've fallen in love:

You believe that you haven't.


End file.
